


Bounty

by TolkienGirl



Series: All That Glitters Gold Rush!AU: The Full Series [310]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Baking, Domestic, Gen, Humor, Mithrim Christmas, Oranges are a precious commodity in Mithrim as it turns out, POV Outsider, Tabitha Phillips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:41:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26962324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TolkienGirl/pseuds/TolkienGirl
Summary: Finrod brings back oranges for Christmas. Caranthir steals them all.
Relationships: Caranthir | Morifinwë & Original Female Character(s)
Series: All That Glitters Gold Rush!AU: The Full Series [310]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1300685
Comments: 8
Kudos: 17





	Bounty

Finrod has managed to procure a dozen oranges at the trading post. This is—to Tabitha’s otherwise practical mind—nothing short of miraculous. It is difficult enough to acquire flour, cornmeal, salt, and onions there. The menfolk (even Abe) tend to forget how full they like their bellies when they have coin or pelts at hand. They often trade all their currency for weapons and tools and treated leather, then demand bread of the womenfolk when it is too late. 

Yes—too many men, as soon as they are settled, forget the daily domestic arts. Mithrim, at least, has always divided its labor with an eye towards even-handedness. Perhaps poor Maedhros Feanorian would wince at the phrase, but Tabitha appreciates how willing most of the men are to help at table and even in the kitchen.

At least, ordinarily, she does.

Her usual companion, Caranthir, has confiscated every last orange. There does not seem to a particular friendliness between him and his cousin Finrod that should embolden him to such an act. To be sure, there does not seem to be a particular friendliness between Caranthir and anyone, save perhaps the brother behind closed doors.

“Those oranges are to be shared out,” says Tabitha, with as much patience as she can muster. It is not very much. Abe would be the first to hint that, even twenty years ago, she was running low. “Finrod brought them back to be shared. There’ve only been oranges in these parts for little longer than you! They’re not something you can steal without people complaining, once their hopes are up.”

“I’m not _stealing_ them,” Caranthir snaps, holding stubbornly fast to the sack. “I am only going to _zest_ them. You may feed out the peeled segments to anyone you like; I shan’t need _those_.”

Tabitha blows out her breath. “And what might you need the zest of twelve oranges for, sir?”

He is red-faced, but not with embarrassment. This prickly _boy_ , for all their hours in the garden, for all the times they’ve washed dishes and laundered bedclothes together in amicable silence, has the cheek to be _offended_ by her questions.

“I am making soda breads,” he says firmly. “I am making orange and raisin soda breads, and I do not yet know how many oranges I shall require! There, is that good enough for you?”

Tabitha’s fingers itch to box his ears, but she gives up.

“Your oranges may not make it to the little ones’ stockings,” she tells Finrod bitterly. “Unless you have a word with Caranthir.”

“Oh, dear me,” Finrod says, laughing in his golden way. “I must assist with other preparations for their enjoyment, then. Caranthir is as solid as stone.”

Men, whether their laughter is gilded or not, are all the same.

The Christmas feast is a grand one. Soda breads and a roasted ham, as many kinds of quick pickles as they can contrive, potatoes mashed with carrot-tinted butter, gravy simmering for a day straight—

“Here are six of the oranges,” Caranthir says, tumbling them into Tabitha’s hastily gathered apron a quarter of an hour before the meal is served. “I did not need them all. “


End file.
